Fight for His (Your) Life
by lostinanotherworld24
Summary: Sonny's not doing well, but his brothers won't let him self-destruct. Set in the third season, after he and Davis break up.


A/N: Do I have a five page paper I should be writing instead? Yes. Will I still devote ridiculous amounts of time to this fandom? Hell yes. Pray for me y'all, it's gonna be a rough week. Let me know your thoughts and drop a review! Thank you!

A meaty fist comes flying and catches him in the jaw, the white burst of pain exploding like fireworks. For just a moment, the world goes fuzzy and there's nothing left to do but feel. The numbness of emotion fades rapidly, and he spits out something from behind blood-stained teeth, if only to incite another punch, if only to regain that numbness. Without that numbness, the grief of what was and what could have been will swallow him whole.

What seems like hours later, he stumbles out of the bar, nearly tripping on the step just outside the way. The next task, upon righting himself, is remembering where he parked the car.

"Your car's this way, but you're not driving," a voice calls out of the darkness.

His head snapped around, and makes out the vague shape of Jason through swollen eyes.

"I'm fine to drive," he mumbles, walking towards his leader.

"You can barely see with how swollen your eyes are, and you're so drunk you can barely walk. No, get in my car."

"Jason, it's fine."

"Get. In. My. Car. That wasn't a suggestion."

He grumbles the whole way, but does as ordered, sliding into the cool interior of Jason's truck. The leather feels nice against his abused body, and momentarily he allows his head to tip backwards. Only his "moment" must last a hell of a lot longer than intended, because the next time he opens his eyes, they're sitting in front of Jason's apartment.

"Jason, no, I'm okay to be at home."

"Stop," Jason bites out. "Stop lying to me, to the team, and to yourself. You're not okay, not in the slightest. I'm not gonna sit here and watch you self-destruct. No, you're staying with me until you're better."

"I'm not sick," he protests.

"Sonny, getting the shit beat of you out every night is not okay. We are going to talk about this in the morning, but for now you're gonna go inside, change clothes, and get some real sleep."

Sonny means to sigh as he gets out, but ends up groaning instead. There's seemingly no place his body doesn't hurt or ache in some form or fashion, and he's definitely paying for all those barroom brawls. He can feel Jason's eyes on him, observing every movement.

"Trent's gonna come over in the morning, check you out."

"Officially?"

"Not at first, depends on his findings. You may need to go to a hospital."

"I don't need no damn hospital," he informs Jason as they approach the front door.

"Sonny, you could have a concussion, a TBI, anything. You'll do whatever Trent says, and that's the end of it."

Xxxx

The first rays of dawn are creeping in when Trent gets Jason's message.

_Can u come over and check Sonny out, been getting his face pounded for fun. Ten-hundred work? _

He rolls his head, considers this.

_Roger that _

Secretly, he's glad Jason's dealing with Sonny. This latest spin-out hasn't exactly been quiet, and they've all been worried. However, there is a time and place and manner in which to approach the burly Texan, and Sonny still holds Trent at arms-length. Clay's probably the closest to him, the best one to deal with this, but even Clay has been firmly shoved away. Besides, Clay's dealing with other issues: his dad, Stella, the bombing, etc.

Sonny's sitting on the couch when he arrives, and he wants to chuckle at how much the rough man looks like a little kid sulking. He refuses to meet Trent's eyes, instead pointedly staring at some far off place. That's fine, Trent can work with that; Sonny actively fighting him would make this much harder. He guesses that the looming presence of Jason probably halts those urges in their tracks.

His suspicions are confirmed in that Sonny does have a severe concussion in addition to the cuts and bruises littering his body. Additionally, he's on his way to severe alcohol poisoning, and should be in a facility somewhere to dry out. There's the faint smell of weed to him too, but Trent won't mention that on official paperwork. The Navy'll look the other way on the rehab and alcohol poisoning, but a weed charge could ruin his career.

Jason sidles back into the room when Trent finishes.

"So Doc, what's the damage?"

Trent sighs.

"You have a severe concussion, a multitude of cuts and bruises, and are dangerously close to alcohol poisoning. I'm pulling you from active duty, and recommending that you be committed to a rehabilitation facility for a period of no less than 2 months. You need help buddy, and sending you into the field right now would be suicide."

As expected, Sonny does not take the news well.

"That's bullshit!" He yells, standing abruptly. "I'm not doing it."

"Sonny, you don't have another choice," Jason informs him.

"Like hell I don't! He's just a medic, he isn't even a real doc."

"Sonny, I'm declaring you unfit for duty."

Sonny swears viciously, and stalks away from them, disappearing into the kitchen. A second later, the crude sound of a fist hitting plaster rings out. However they're both experienced at handling Sonny, and they know to sit and wait for this storm to pass. Soon enough, Sonny comes back into the room, and fusses with the brim of his cap.

"_Two months_?"

"Two months," Jason confirms.

"Aw, hell," he mutters, and sits down heavily.

Jason clasps a hand to his shoulder briefly, and exits the room, murmuring about letting Blackburn know.

"Sonny," Trent begins, waiting for Sonny's eyes to meet his. "We're here for you buddy. Whatever you need. But you need more help than we can give you right now, that's all."

Sonny nods wordlessly, and lets his head droop forward. Trent has sympathy for him suddenly, because hitting rock bottom is never any fun.

Xxxx

By Monday, a rehab facility has been found, waiting for Sonny to move in tomorrow. He decides to talk to the boys, let them know what's going on. They've been so patient with him, it's only fair.

"As I'm sure you all know, I ain't been doin' so hot lately," he begins. "Tomorrow I'm entering a rehab facility, and I'm goin' to get some help. This means I won't be riding with y'all for at least 2 months, with the potential for more. I need help, and I need to get better, and that ain't gonna happen here."

A stunned silence settles over the room, and the guys exchange shocked expressions.

"We're here for you brother, for whatever you need," Ray breaks the silence. The other men nod in agreement.

"Yeah man, whatever you need," Clay speaks up next.

"Stay safe out there, okay? Watch each other. Make sure I have a team to come home to. No dumbass stunts," he points directly at Clay.

Reality hits when he's packing, and he realizes: somehow he survived BUD/S, multiple deployments, Green Team, and 8 years of Bravo, yet he's never felt more terrified.

Xxxx

The first mission without Sonny feels strange, almost like the team is without a limb. Before, Jason never realized how the pressure to keep things light, to keep things realistic fell to Sonny. The briefing has a strange sort of emptiness without that Southern drawl, and no one is immune. He's caught everyone instinctively glancing towards the empty seat, but he forces himself to not let them dwell, to keep the focus on their mission.

Clay seems the most bereft, as he's without his best friend. Jason can well understand that feeling, remembering with a grimace the missions without Ray. He tries to check-in with Clay on the plane, but Clay brushes him off. At this stage in their years together, solely Sonny has been granted access to the man behind the mirror, as it were. They won't even be able to visit, because the doctors seem to think the team contributed slightly to making Sonny sick, and he can't get better where he got infected. Two months has never seemed so long.

Xxxx

The first steps of freedom are the sweetest things he's ever tasted. Everything seems newer, brighter, better. The breeze off the trees feels perfect, and even the birds look more beautiful than they ever have. Intellectually, he knows that the world is the same, that he's the one that changed, but he lets himself enjoy the illusion. He thinks things can't get much better until he catches sight of what's around his truck.

Or rather, who is.

His brothers stand gathered around, all wearing eager smiles. He grins broadly in return, as waves of happiness cascade over him. As they slap his back and envelope him in their arms and trade fist and arm bumps, he realizes that this was entirely worth the hell of the past two months. This was worth the baring of his soul, the withdrawal symptoms, the agony of reliving everything he'd been through. They were why he'd fought so hard everyday, why he'd never allowed himself to be defeated.

A sudden memory flashes through his mind, one of Clay's first missions with Bravo. When the cake-eater wanted them to leave Clay behind, and they'd still gone and gotten him. In this moment, he understands suddenly that they'd done the same for him- they'd gone and gotten him out of a dark place, brought him into the light. Even though he'd flown solo in rehab, he'd truly never been alone.

"Sonny boy, where'd ya go?" Ray asks teasingly.

"Thinking about how damn lucky I am to have you guys," he replies honestly. In the past, the old Sonny would've made a joke, dodged the question, but he understands things now that he didn't before. The other guys are thrown off by this heartfelt honesty, but they don't tease him for it, instead simply nodding. His eyes awash in tears, because he loved this so much he almost lost it, and is so thankful he didn't.

Although with his brothers by his side, there's really not much he can lose.


End file.
